


wholly to be a fool while spring is in the world

by inber



Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Come Shot, Coming Untouched, Dominant Eskel (The Witcher), Humiliation, Light Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Miscommunication, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Name-Calling, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage, Public Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Stocks, They are bad at words, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Verbal Humiliation, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24643711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: Whilst walking the path in an unfriendly part of the continent, Eskel comes across Roach with no Geralt. He finds his friend bowed in stocks, taunted by humans, and he must rescue him. But the bloody lock on the stocks is impossible and Geralt does look very good bent over like that...Or: Eskel saves, and then fucks, Geralt.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: The Eskel and Geralt Figuring It Out Chronicles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1791841
Comments: 43
Kudos: 412





	wholly to be a fool while spring is in the world

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to tag this as semi dubious consent because of the position Geralt is in and the way Eskel feels, but I assure you that they both say yes to everything and they both enjoy what transpires. They just need to chat about it sometime.

Eskel was not comfortable with this part of Temeria. It was full of small slums sheltering smaller minds, and few of them welcomed witchers. Most of them simply shut their doors if he had to pass through, but others were downright hostile. He skirted settlements where possible and counted the miles until he’d be closer inland.

When he came across a very familiar horse and picked up a blood scent, he was immediately concerned. Roach was spooked, but she calmed beneath Eskel’s gentle hand, and he managed to tether her safely outside the village with his own mount. Geralt’s things were untouched in his saddlebags, but – Eskel noted with a twist of fear – both of his swords were on the ground. They were clean. He couldn’t carry them and wield his weapons, so he stowed them near the horses. Withdrawing his own blade, he entered the town cautiously.

Calling it a ‘town’ would be generous. It was a hovel, in truth; there were a huddle of rickety buildings and a solitary hall that probably served as a tavern. Eskel caught the scent of perhaps a dozen individuals. He frowned. Geralt’s blood grew fainter, but he traced the scent of his sweat and anger instead.

He could have just used his eyes and not his enhanced senses. The people were gathered in a corner of the village, where he saw Geralt bowed in stocks. He had been stripped of his armour and clothing. His eyes were wild and his fists were clenched, but he was not fighting, save for the occasional flex in an attempt to destroy the bondage holding him in humiliation. The villagers crowed and threw clods of dirt and old fruit.

“Monster!” They jeered, “Freak!”

 _How original,_ Eskel thought, as he strode up to the scene. The humans paused, eyeing Eskel and his withdrawn sword with caution. Geralt looked somewhere between relieved and embarrassed.

“Let him go.” Eskel commanded.

“Why should we?” A tall fool of a man asked. He reeked of ale and jaundice. “He’s a menace! Your kind all are!”

“He could have killed all of you, and yet he has not. He is not the monster you say he is. You asked him to surrender his swords, and he did. And _this_ is how you would treat a guest?” Eskel spat on the ground. “You’re all pathetic.”

“All of us?” A woman scoffed, “We overpowered him, we did. Was easy!”

“He could still kill you, even bowed as he is by your stocks.” Eskel’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Bollocks.” The man – perhaps the leader – said.

“He would not spill human blood, where possible.” Eskel raised a hand, the glint of his teeth all fang. “But I’ve no such qualms.”

He unleashed a bolt of flame with igni, hitting a bale of hay to the side, which exploded with a dramatic hiss. The magic burnt itself out quickly, rendering the fire to ash. But a point had been made. Eskel stood and dared the villagers with his gaze, every inch the wolf his school trained him to be. _Give me a reason,_ his expression said. _Give me half a fucking reason._

The simpletons gawped at the display – they’d probably never seen a sign cast before – and scattered in terror. None of them dared to return to their homes; they simply ran into the night. It was possible they were headed to a settlement east. Eskel had moved around it. They’d either find sanctuary there, or raise a foolish army. No matter. Both Witchers would be long gone before sunrise.

“Eskel,” Geralt rasped, “Wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

“As do I, my friend.” Eskel said. He was still angry. He sheathed his sword with reluctance, and began to tug on the bolts that held the stock together. They were annoyingly solid. “Why did you not threaten them, or fight, Geralt?”

“I was hungry and tired. They said they’d feed me in exchange for coin. I don’t know what they put in the damn stew, but it was enough to stop me from fighting all their hands away. By the time it burnt off...” He didn’t need to say more.

“Blaviken was long ago.” Eskel tried to keep the distress from his tone. The animal in him was dissatisfied by the outcome of this; nobody had paid for the unfair treatment of Geralt. He felt scattered. “You need to—fuck these _damn stocks!_ ”

Geralt laughed bleakly. “I’ve been working on them for an hour.”

Eskel kicked the base of them, and they barely moved. “Least the view’s nice.” He said, before he could stop himself. It was juvenile, something Lambert might say, but it tumbled from his mouth like a confessional whisper.

And Geralt’s scent changed. Annoyance at his situation became spiked with the unmistakable smell of arousal. The animal within Eskel prowled restlessly. He raked his gaze over the form of the other man, bowed forward as he was, a beautifully powerful creature completely at mercy.

“Fuck off.” Geralt managed, but it was half-hearted.

“What, you don’t like being under my gaze? You’d prefer the simple humans? None of them could fuck you like I do. Not the way you like it.” _What was he saying?_ Eskel’s mind was becoming frayed. Over winter, it wasn’t uncommon for Geralt and Eskel to seek comfort in one another. Eskel knew that Geralt preferred to receive. But that was just relief, that was just heat and sex. It happened at Kaer Morhen, and they never spoke of it otherwise. Hells, they barely spoke of it whilst they were actually fucking.

This was different. They were both on the path. It was spring, and there were no excuses to hide behind. No snow and cabin fever to blame. Geralt was presented here in serendipity, like a submissive bitch for Eskel to take, and he wanted _so badly_ to take.

The way Geralt’s cock filled and thrummed against his stomach told Eskel that he wasn’t alone in his desire.

Geralt’s cheeks blazed with heat. “No, it’s not—I mean, just... just find the _damn keys,_ Eskel.”

“You want that?” Eskel ran his fingers along Geralt’s spine as if he were a tame pony. The white witcher shuddered. “I don’t think you do.”

“It’s—there’s been awhile between brothels, okay?” Geralt tried to rationalise, “That’s all.”

“So you wish me to fetch the keys, and _not_ fuck you until you’re sweaty and whining and standing over a puddle of your own come. Is that correct?” Eskel wandered back around to Geralt’s front, and knelt. They locked eyes, and Geralt’s cock pulsed, sending a drool of precome to the ground.

“Fuck.” Geralt whispered.

“Say it.” Eskel licked his lips, “Say the words, and I’ll give you what you need, Geralt.”

Geralt trembled coltishly. He broke his gaze from Eskel’s, trained it on his boots instead. “I—want...”

“Can’t hear you.” Eskel said, slapping his cheek. “Look at me and ask properly, you trussed-up slut.”

The black of Geralt’s pupils blew wide as his gaze returned, and Eskel scented his boiling lust. “ _Fuck me,_ Eskel.” He mumbled, and then tacked on, “ _Please_.”

Eskel smirked. He stood again, and walked back around the helpless witcher, touching as he went. Geralt’s thick muscles tensed, and he arched the small of his back. The sight made Eskel’s intelligent mind go fuzzier as more and more of the animal took control.

“Pretty,” He purred, “Pretty, _pretty bitch._ Waiting to be fucked full. Exposed in a town square. I’m barely going to undo my breeches to fuck you, but _look_ at you, naked and begging.” Another throb, another little squirt of precome. “Oh, yes. Look how wet you’re getting. Haven’t even touched you.”

“Eskel,” Geralt’s voice had gone breathy, “Please, _fuck_. I need it.”

“I know.” Eskel, in honesty, felt as if he could burst too. He undid his belt and the laces of his pants, but kept himself clothed as he’d promised. All he had was sword oil, but it’d do. He pulled the small vial from a pouch, let it drizzle down the cleft of Geralt’s bum. The bigger man quivered at the feeling.

“Please,” Geralt asked again, “Just fuck me. Eskel, _fuck me_.”

“I will,” Eskel snarled, “But I want you wet and ready.” Two of his fingers teased Geralt’s ring, massaging the tight hole.

“I am, I’m ready, I don’t care,” Geralt was rocking as much as he could, trying to get Eskel to just slip one finger inside, “ _Please_ fuck your _bitch_.”

Eskel’s sanity fissured. He plunged his middle finger within Geralt, curling it and finding his prostate from memory alone. Geralt howled at the sudden intrusion, the jolt of pain coupled with the stimulation of his nerves. All it took was some pressure from the pad of Eskel’s finger before Geralt was gasping with his first orgasm, his cock twitching wildly as he came in thick spurts onto the dirt beneath him.

Watching in fascination, Eskel fingered him through it. “Good boy,” He praised, “Just like that. Come for me.” The words spurred Geralt on, and he moaned with abandon. Eskel’s stroking slowed as Geralt’s muscles slackened, and he allowed the other man a moment to catch his breath. “Felt good, hmm?”

Geralt made a low whimper in agreement, and nodded. “Yes,” He whispered, “I—please. Yes. _More_.”

Eskel bit off the end of a growl as he withdrew his finger. He slicked his cock with more oil, aware that his friend was sensitive and ill-prepared. But something deeply primal in him had awoken, and would not rest until it was fed and sated. Rationality buzzed in the deep recesses of his brain, reminding him that he was about to fuck Geralt in public, a display that anyone could stumble across at any moment.

And damn it all, the thought just made him _harder_.

He pushed forward, lining the blunt head of his impressive dick up with Geralt’s slick hole, pressing against the resistance of muscle. His own body was tense in strict discipline, the violent slant of his pelvis all the more pronounced with the knit of his abdomen. It took all of Eskel’s control not to slam forward.

But then Geralt moaned. “Fuck me,” He begged again, “Fuck me like a bought _whore_ , Eskel.”

Eskel’s rationality dissolved beneath a storm-surge of lust and need. The dark thing within him snapped bear-trap teeth and coiled claws around his pumping veins. _Take the bitch_ , it screeched. _Yours. Yours._

With a snarl like jagged glass, Eskel drove his hips forward. His cry wove into Geralt’s. Fuck, so tight around him, so hot, so— _his_. Hunching forward, legs spread in a steady stance, he gripped the waist of the bitch beneath him for breeding and began a power-fuck that drove Geralt’s knees down into the dirt, made the stocks groan in protest, forced the breath from Geralt’s lungs with every thrust.

Sweat and oil smeared across Eskel’s pelvis and provided a symphony of slapping as Geralt’s arse cheeks bounced obscenely. Time and time again, Eskel’s balls clapped against Geralt’s as he took him like a won prize, merciless, demanding. Deep. He wanted to be so fucking _deep_ in Geralt. Wanted to fill him ‘til he dripped.

Eskel was vaguely aware of the sound of the stocks breaking, but Geralt did not move from his position. He arched the small of his back, keening. Eskel fisted fingers in the snowy disarray of his friend’s hair and pulled Geralt’s head back sharply. He could see the spittle glistening at Geralt’s lower lip. He delighted in the glassiness of his slut’s eyes, the haziness of fucked-out bliss.

When Geralt began to rut back against Eskel, bucking in a beg to hasten his second orgasm, Eskel met his savage rhythm. He knew Geralt was coming when he stilled, shuddering bodily, moaning in such a reedy whine that Eskel was helpless to do anything but follow him over the edge. Eskel’s fingers pressed bruises into the meat of Geralt’s rear as he roared his pleasure, spilling come in a copious flood, holding his claim as close as possible as he rode out the intense orgasm.

Distantly, he became aware that his weight was atop Geralt, who was struggling to remain in position. His teeth were also sunk into the flesh of his friend’s shoulder. Clarity returned with haste after that; he rose and withdrew, stumbling back a couple of steps.

Even though the fever of need was receding, Eskel couldn’t help but stare at his own come dripping from Geralt’s puffy-pink hole. _Not yours_ , his returning coherence reminded him. But still he felt sick satisfaction knowing that the bruises in the exact shape of his fingers would take a day to heal.

Geralt stood with a stumble, and Eskel found himself flung into motion. It was easier to do things than to talk about what had just transpired. He found somewhere comfortable for Geralt to kneel, provided him with a wet rag to clean himself, and went in search of the armour that had been stripped from him. He found it within one of the hovels. When Eskel returned, Geralt took the offered pieces and began to dress again.

Eskel’s body was at war with the sate of satisfaction and a distinct feeling of villainy. Geralt had consented, had enjoyed himself, but Eskel had pressed him into accepting the situation. Hadn’t he? His friend had been subjected to a drugging and then cruelty, and Eskel’s _response_ had been—

Instead of helping Geralt, he’d fucked him stupid. Called him names. Felt out of control with it all. Eskel was a monster, no better than the humans that had thrown Geralt into the stocks. He cringed with self-loathing.

“Are you...” Eskel mumbled, distress clearly evident on his face. “Okay?”

Geralt hummed, fastening the last strap of his spaulder. “Thanks to you.”

“Don’t say that.” Eskel said, rubbing at his scars. “I-I took advantage of... the situation you were in. Geralt, I’m so sor—”

“You said it yourself, to the humans. I could have said no. Could have gotten out.” Geralt looked up, trying to meet Eskel’s eyes. Gold on gold briefly, before Eskel turned his head.

“I, um. I don’t know where that comes from. The... need. Something takes over, with you, sometimes.” Eskel fidgeted with the edge of his glove. “I don’t ever want to be the reason you’re hurt, Geralt.”

Geralt stood, more certain of his legs. “You’ve yet to be, Eskel.” His voice was soft.

Eskel nodded, a jerky motion, and began to walk back to the horses. He could think of nothing further to say; he was generally verbose and amused by Geralt’s lack of clear expression, but now he found himself at a loss. How could he tell Geralt that he had _enjoyed_ their spontaneous interaction? That he liked having the other witcher helpless and squirming? That he hadn’t come that hard since—since—

Fuck, since _last winter._

Geralt didn’t do emotions. Eskel swallowed his thoughts, deciding it was best not to say anything more. He waited whilst Geralt took stock of his bags, inspected his swords, and apologised to Roach. Then he untethered Scorpion, leading him back to the road.

“See you in winter, Geralt.” Eskel’s voice sounded strange, even to his own ears.

“Winter.” Geralt echoed, confusion twisted in his voice. “Until then, my friend.”

As he pushed his horse into a trot, Eskel forced himself not to look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I am @inber on tumblr, if you are on that hellsite too.


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